


The Bane of Innocence

by writteninhaste



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninhaste/pseuds/writteninhaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young does not mean helpless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bane of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ this prompt over at](http://community.livejournal.com/issenterprise/56034.html?thread=%20698082#t698082) [](http://issenterprise.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://issenterprise.livejournal.com/)**issenterprise** kink meme 2.0

Joanna McCoy was lovely, any fool could see that. Sweet, honey-blonde hair that had already begun to darken with the passing of the years; wide, expressive hazel eyes; strong nosed, full lipped and soft cheeked. She was still a child – but only just; teetering on that tantalising cusp of adulthood. Remington could already see the shadows of future curves: the bourgeoning swell of her breasts, her hips; the silky skin of her legs still smooth and hairless. He hungered for it; longed to taste the innocence she kept – so different from the other girls with their hollow eyes; their resigned and unresisting lips.

Joanna McCoy. Her name breathed along his skin. She was such a fragile looking thing. Remington had seen her veritably _quake_ when one of the older boys had looked her way the other day. She had trembled; flushing pink. Still at such a tender age – unknowing of the lusts of men – but able to instinctually shiver at the touch of so much heat. It was exquisite.

Yet, his usual methods would have to be rethought. She required no additional tuition. Her grades surpassed those of her peers – even in the physical arena she excelled. An ability to withstand discomfort then – perhaps she could even be taught to anticipate, enjoy the pain. It would be delicious if he did not have to listen to her scream; if she would sigh and cringe and whimper as she rode him – that tight, sweet, virgin heat. If he could ensure she would not scream, he could see her night after night and every time, leave her mouth gloriously free. Oh, he had longed for such a playmate for some time. Still, he would need some pretext. The Headmaster needed plausible deniability after all. Joanna had once expressed enjoyment in playing chess. He would offer her those lessons instead.

* * *

It was easy to get Joanna to agree to private chess lessons. He offered to arrange the sessions during ‘social hour’ which he knew most students found either tedious or stressful – so many opportunities to inflict harm when teachers were not watching. And Joanna had seemed honestly pleased by the prospect; she showed no caution or reserve at being singled out for such attention. She was delectably naïve. All the fault of that fool father of hers no doubt. A doctor, he had heard Joanna say once; one who left her here because his Captain could not do without him. Remington had to give the man credit – his persistence in retaining his child’s naïveté could be no small feat. Still, he’d heard better euphemisms for being a kept whore. Joanna, in her innocence, took great pride in her Daddy’s position. A prized officer, she called him; a favourite of a favourite of the Empire. Her mother was never mentioned. Dead from what Remington presumed. Good. He had no patience for women who tried to trade their aged and life-worn bodies in their daughter’s stead. What could degenerating tissue have in place of soft and nubile flesh?

Joanna knocked once, twice, lightly against the door, obeying his call to enter with all the delicacy and quiet of a mouse. She stood, huddled, in the space before his desk – school shirt thin and large around her shoulders; skirt cinched tightly at the waist.

“Sit.” Remington told her; gesturing at the chess board, inlaid into a table by the chaise. He watched as Joanna sat, perching on the end – her wide, young eyes surveying the cool marble of the chess set. “A gift from my father.” Remington told her. “We were very close.” Something flickered behind Joanna’s eyes. Remington smiled. Clear enough that his way into this girl was through her father. “Let’s see what you know, shall we?”

* * *

Joanna played well. It was difficult to fabricate moments of instruction. In the end, Remington deliberately sacrificed a few of his own pieces just to forge a reason. At last, Joanna moved her queen and Remington held up a hand in triumph.

“Ah. See what has happened here? Look at the board? You see?”

Joanna frowned, no doubt wondering just what it was she was supposed to understand. “Come round here, see if you can’t see better from this angle. Next time we’ll play with a moveable board – make things easier, but for now stand right here and let me know what you see.” Dutifully, Joanna slid off her chair, the hem of her skirt catching on the edge giving a brief, tantalising glimpse of thigh. Remington pushed his seat back to make space for the girl between his legs, sighing with appreciation as she bent at the waist to peer through the pieces.

“I don’t think I see what you mean, Sir.” Ah, he loved her voice: young and high and sweet. He thought that when she spoke he could hear the wind through southern trees and the lazy spiral fall of peach blossoms in the breeze.

Remington leant forward, pressing his chest against her lower back and hips. He felt her stiffen ever so slightly beneath him but he purposefully carried on as though nothing were amiss. He brought one arm past her waist to rest against the edge of the table as he spoke. “If you look here, you’ll see that your pieces are in a good position to end the game quickly. Three decisive moves – more if you’re a little sloppy – and it would be checkmate. But see here, if you withdraw the queen; move your bishop. The game would take longer, you would loose a few pieces along the way – pawns mostly – but you would reduce me, in the end, to playing with nothing more than a rook and my king. A decisive victory is an unquestionable benefit Joanna, but never underestimate the beauty of the cat and mouse game – of playing with your opponent before you crush him completely.”

Joanna bit her lip, nodding thoughtfully, and Remington took the moment to slide his free hand swiftly beneath the hem of her skirt. His fingers brushed the elastic of her underwear, the smooth cotton of the fabric; she smelt so innocent.

“Sir, I don’t think this is proper. My Daddy wouldn’t like it.”

“Your father is a long way from here, Miss McCoy. There’s little he can do about it. Now be a good girl, and spread your legs a little wider. There we go.”

Joanna was trembling. Remington shushed her encouragingly before lifting the hand that had been resting against the table to undo her blouse. It was slightly awkward from this angle, but he had the benefit of practice.

“I’m serious, Sir.” Joanna tried to keep her voice firm, but Remington could hear it cracking. “My Daddy would be very angry if he knew what you were doing. So would my Father for that matter.”

Remington snorted. If the Doctor had a spouse again then he had lost his position as Captain’s Whore. The girl was worse than friendless now. Working one hand into the now-open blouse, Remington tugged Joanna down to his lap and whispered in her ear. “And just who is your Father, that you think he can protect you all the way out in space?”

Joanna suddenly went predator still and Remington froze instinctually. Her voice, when she spoke, was honey-thick and lazy with suppressed laughter. “James Tiberius Kirk. Captain of the ISS _Enterprise_.”

Remington had a moment to register a feeling of absolute fear before nerve-blinding pain bit into his skin. He screamed, trying to writhe free but the chair kept him from backing away. The agony ceased and Remington gazed blearily into soulless, hazel eyes. He saw Joanna reach for the pressure point at the back of his neck, but he didn’t have the energy to fight.

* * *

It took Remington an inordinate amount of time to wake. Joanna contented herself in the meantime by securing the ties on his ankles and wrists; his tie and belt were not have been her manacles of choice, but they were sufficient. A gag was easily acquired by robbing the man of his decorative handkerchief. Satisfied, Joanna laid her various knives upon the chest board. Her father had promised her a knife she could wear down her back and hide beneath her braid, but her Daddy didn’t want her carrying one until she had finished growing; he was worried her posture might be affected from the weight. Joanna contemplated, briefly, using the agoniser her parents had given her to wake Remington up but she didn’t want to erode his resilience before she’d even begun experimenting.

Eventually, Remington regained consciousness. He bucked wildly at the bonds initially, but Joanna just rested her weight against the table and waited him for realise the futility of his attempts. Once he had quieted, she set to work – carefully informing him of what she was about to do before she jabbed the heel of her hand into his larynx. The move would work better once she was fully grown – as it was the damage to the vocal cords was minimal, though within acceptable parameters.

Joanna started with the chest. The skin of the torso was always the easiest to work with – it parted so very nicely. Curious, Joanna carved out a mound of flesh from just beneath the ribs. Blood dropped thick and heavy from the gash. Her Daddy had explained briefly how the agoniser worked – Joanna wanted to see what the difference in reaction was when the instrument was exposed to the raw nerve ending of a wound as apposed to healthy flesh. Remington passed out. Disappointed, Joanna continued carving her way down his body. Let him wake up when the pain got too much. It was tedious to have to wait.

* * *

Joanna wiped the blade from her knife with her thumb, sucking on the digit thoughtfully as she surveyed her captive carefully. Still breathing – which was a bonus. She didn’t have the necessary equipment here to resuscitate him. Joanna lowered the blade to his skin again and Remington screamed – well, as much as he was able around his ruined vocal cords. Tugging his head forward, Joanna placed her knife against her teacher’s throat.

“You know, so many people think it would be easier to tilt the head back to slit the throat. But if you do, the tendon hyper-extends and it acts a little like a shield and you don’t always get a nice, clean cut. You have better access to the artery this way.” Remington’s eyes went wide – a dying man’s last breath of fear. “Maybe I should have just castrated you and sent you on your way.” Joanna continued conversationally. “Father and Daddy are going to be furious I didn’t let them play with you.”

“Joanna McCoy put the knife _down_.”

Joanna turned, startled. The Headmaster was standing in the doorway, phaser ready. Joanna sighed. Father was not going to be happy she had let her guard down like that.

Blood flew in a scalding arc even as the knife clattered to the ground. Joanna turned to the Headmaster in abashed innocence. “Oops?” she said.

* * *

Jim cocked an eyebrow at Bones as they assembled on the Transporter. McCoy was scowling – had been ever since he had received the message from Joanna’s school informing him of their plans to extract payment from him over ‘damages’ his daughter had caused. McCoy had turned white when he heard – but whether it was from fear or fury was unclear. Uhura patched the message through without orders: expect Dr McCoy and accompanying party post-haste. The rest of the bridge crew were already assembled and ready. It was no secret that they saw Joanna McCoy as the continuation of a legacy – one they were adamant they were going to protect.

“Doctor.” Spock said. “It would be illogical for your daughter’s school to attempt to harm what the _Enterprise_ protects.”

McCoy scowled, arm twitching from the suppressed urge to hypo the Vulcan. “Except they don’t know the _Enterprise_ protects her do they? It’s only my name on the damn paperwork.” That last jab was aimed at Jim and he doubted any of his command staff missed it. Sickbay had experience a reign of terror during that particular fight. Bones had taken all his frustration against Jim out on those hapless enough to get themselves injured. Jim knew McCoy had never really forgiven him for the decision. Kirk had insisted he could have no weakness acknowledged officially; his name would not appear on any of Joanna’s papers. He had hoped Bones would see the logic of the situation: if no one knew Joanna could be used against Jim then she was safe. She would have time and room to grow. She would become an officer in her own right one day but she had to live long enough to get there.

If she died, Bones would kill him. There was only so much love servants of the Empire could hold in their hearts and Bones had given nearly all he had to Joanna. The little bit Jim had managed to squirrel away for himself could never hope to weight equal to it.

“If they’ve hurt one hair on her head Jim.” McCoy said, growling low in Kirk’s ear as Scotty ready the Transporter beam. Jim did not miss the threat.

“I gave up a hell of a lot to become Captain of this ship.” He said with feigned tranquillity. “I’d give up even more to keep it.” He wouldn’t go down without a fight. It might destroy him – just a little – to kill Bones. But he could do it.

McCoy’s jaw snapped tight, his nostrils flaring, but Scotty spoke before he could get a word out. “Alright, Captain, you’re good to go. I’ll be putting you down in the main atrium. Someone’s supposed to meet you there.”

“Understood, Mr Scott. Energise.”

* * *

The décor of the Imperial Educational Academy seemed to run to a distinct theme: dark wood, inlaid metals and too many dark spaces for assailants to wait and hide. A thin, whip-sharp woman with an ugly scar bisecting the middle of her face was waiting to meet them. Her breath quickened ever so slightly at the sight of the Imperial uniforms, but other than that she gave no sign of having recognised the landing party.

“Dr McCoy.” The woman said. “The Headmaster is expecting you, follow me. The rest of your party may wait here.”

“We go too.” Chekov said. Jim smiled at the woman when she looked ready to disagree with the sentiment. She swallowed thickly and nodded once.

“Very well.”

McCoy strode on and Jim motioned to let them lead the party; McCoy first, Jim at his side, the rest of the Bridge staying steadily three steps behind. They were led down a narrow, well light hallway with security feeds running either side. The woman rapped sharply on the door before letting herself in. Only Bones and Kirk followed her.

Joanna was sat demurely on one of the hard chairs before the desk. Her hands were bound her back but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

“Daddy.” She said happily upon seeing them. “Father.”

Jim noted with interest that the headmaster’s face – which had already turned an unhealthy grey at the sight of him – bleed to green-tinged white at Joanna’s greeting.

“Hey kid.” Jim said. McCoy had already knelt to cut the bindings. No one said a word of protest.

Jim sat himself uninvited in one of the free chairs, smiling innocuously at the Headmaster whilst Bones and Joanna exchanged a whispered conversation.

“Joanna will be spending the night aboard the _Enterprise_.” Jim said, once McCoy had satisfied himself as to Joanna’s state of health. “She will return to school tomorrow evening. You may discuss these alleged ‘damages’ with us then.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The Headmaster said. “The situation will be taken care of. We look forward to having Miss McCoy back with us soon.”

“Thank you.” Jim smiled. He motioned with a hand toward the door. “Joanna, Bones – after you.” Father and daughter left. But Jim stayed momentarily to watch the look on the Headmaster’s face as he heard cries of ‘Aunt Uhura’, ‘Uncle Spock’ and saw the deadly-quiet faces of Sulu and Chekov. The man looked ready to give his phaser a blowjob. Sweeping from the room, Jim let the door swing shut with a satisfying crack.

* * *

Uhura absconded with Joanna the moment they were back on the ship. Jim didn’t protest. The bridge grew would want to assure themselves that their protégé was safe. Following McCoy to their quarters, Jim poured himself a hefty drink and poured another one for Bones. Pressing it into the doctor’s hand, Jim proceeded to strip himself of his uniform.

“So,” he said. “You going to be moody and recalcitrant all night or do I have a shot at victory sex?”

McCoy snorted, shedding his clothes and kicking his boots to a far corner of the room. “You get your victory sex.”

Jim smiled; wholly unamused. “Joanna’s safe.”

“That she is. Now stop talking ‘bout my daughter.”

Jim noted the lack of the term ‘our’ but didn’t comment; time enough to prove McCoy wrong later. Crawling over Bones onto the bed, Jim began nipping his way across the doctor’s chest. McCoy lay back against the pillow, hissing slightly when Jim bit sharply at the juncture between ear and neck.

“I would have killed you. Had anything happened to her.”

Jim reached for the lube beside the bed and slicked his fingers with it. McCoy was not particularly aroused, but that hardly mattered. “I wouldn’t have let you kill me, Bones.”

McCoy shuddered as Jim worked two fingers inside him. “I would have tried, though.”

Jim nodded. “I know.” He sank into Bones without checking if the other man was ready. “We don’t really love each other, do we?”

“We love each other, kid.” McCoy replied. “As much as we are able.”

Jim turned away and closed his eyes. “We love Joanna though.”

Bones laughed; bitter and sharp like broken glass. “Yeah, we both love Joanna.”

* * *

The next day, when she returned to school, Joanna found a knife long enough to fit down her spine complete with size-appropriate sheath and holster, resting on her pillow. The sheath bore the planet and dagger symbol of the Empire.

Slipping her hand into her pocket, Joanna fingered the laser scalpel her Daddy had given her before departing. It’s smooth, metallic edges fit easily into her palm. Taking the scalpel out, she laid it by the dagger’s side.

One gift from her Daddy. One gift from her Father. Normally gifts came from them combined.

 


End file.
